


When In Rome

by YouLookGoodInLeather



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pining, Sexual Frustration, Threesome, broom closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 06:06:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10633830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouLookGoodInLeather/pseuds/YouLookGoodInLeather
Summary: 'There are many things you should not do when in the court of your tyrannical, murderous enemy, locked beneath a mountain.Wanking off in a broom closet is one of them.'____________Only in Lucien's wildest dreams does this kind of thing come true. And then reality decides to join in.





	

There are many things you should not do when in the court of your tyrannical, murderous enemy, locked beneath a mountain.

Wanking off in a broom closet is one of them.

It’s not his fault; Lucien can’t help it. In the past he has prided himself on being ‘above’ all the rest of those insidious fae instincts, which turn grown men into brawling children, drooling after women. _Beasts_ , he’s often thought of those who turn into little more than animals over the slightest dispute. He’s been through too much to be victim to such pettiness.

Or so he thought. Yet here he is, clinging onto the storage shelving for dear life, his hand wrapped around his cock as he furiously tries to get himself off.

 _Bastard_ , he thinks, whimpering at how hard he is. _Foul, arrogant, slutting_ _bastard_. He had thought he was over this. He was no longer the flighty child who had developed a crush on the taboo ‘bad boy’, no longer so dangerously drawn to the forbidden. Surely his first true love had taught him that much?

So why had he found himself so unbelievably, achingly hard when he’d caught sight of The Whore? Lucien had not so much as seen Rhysand for a good century, and yet all it had taken was one brief glance from the High Lord of the Night Court and Lucien was felled. True, it wasn’t as if he had never thought of the Illyrian half-breed since then… on the contrary, his image had been his constant companion every night, whispering, dragging out shameful orgasm after orgasm as he came upon his bed sheets, alone and disgusted in his arousal.

It isn’t Lucien’s fault. Those eyes. Those dark, quick eyes, lethally combined with a malicious smirk and _those cheekbones_. His broad chest, his sculpted shoulders, _dear Mother above that ass_. Was it so wrong that all Lucien wanted was to be fucked hard and fast into a mattress by that pure and dreadful sin of a body? Fucked to teasing words,  sly and arrogant and yet so charming. Fucked over and over until his body was a ruin for all to see. _Fucked-_

He nearly comes when the door shoots open.

“Fucking Cauldron fuck,” Lucien hisses, gasping as he trys to hurriedly shove his glistening cock back into his garments. Squinting at the light of the open door, he trys to make out the figure standing before him.

“Lucien, darling,” he says, “still hiding in closets I see.”

If shame could kill, he would die on the spot there and then. With no blessing of instant perishing coming, however, he hisses out through gritted teeth, “Rhysand, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Forgive me,” the High Lord admonishes, “I hear people moaning out my name and I assume they’re summoning me. I have, after all, heard several rumors of people performing ritual sacrifices to try and bind me to their will to serve as their assassin. I was rather hoping you were one of those.” He grins at Lucien’s not-so-hidden cock. “Although I must say Lucy, this is far more interesting.”

Had he been moaning? He’d been so lost in the fantasy he couldn’t deny it. Flushing with rage, Lucien straightens and tries to look intimidating – an act made somewhat tricky by the whole precum and boner situation. “Your name?” Lucien says as coldly as he can, despite his ragged breathing. _Just fuck me already_ , that small traitorous part of his brain begs. Shut up. “I’m afraid you must be mistaken. The thought of _you_ is the least appealing concept imaginable.” He does his best to mirror Rhysand’s signature condescending smirk. “Or has being the court’s whore gone to your head?”

Something cold and wounded flashes across the High Lord’s beautiful features, then in a second it is gone, replaced by a wolfish grin. “Oh really?” He purrs. Like the fox of his mask, Lucien feels his stomach drop as he knows he is hunted, and now the pack has caught his scent. “So, you’ll find nothing more repulsive than me doing this?”

They are suddenly together, pinned to the shelving, Lucien gripping the metal tight as Rhysand has an arm either side of him, a fox caught in the trap, grinding their groin together slow and infuriating. “Imagine if the sight of me, his sworn enemy, has the noble, untouchable Lucien touching himself and crying like a little boy in the closet.” He leans in and breathes cool across Lucien’s neck, sending shivers back against the ones already arising from the stimulation of his cock. “What would his master say?”

“He’d say get the fuck off of him.”

No. Lucien perhaps could have survived this absolute humiliation had Tamlin not been there to pay witness. Yet there he was, standing in the light. “You didn’t shut the bloody door?” Lucien hisses, despairing when Rhysand just gives him a guilty shrug.

“Whoops.”

“Lucien,” Tamlin says, his voice too calm, too controlled. “What is this?” He steps in, closing the door behind him. For once, he is smarter than his Night Court counterpart.

“I’m just helping Lucien take care of himself,” Rhysand answers smoothly. “Standard Night Court hospitality. Don’t you have it in Spring? Well, no wonder he’s wound so tight. You really ought to look after your courtiers better, Tamlin.” The way he says his name is loaded with the tension of the blood feud between them, and though it shouldn’t, it makes Lucien’s cock twitch. Is… he being fought over?

Tamlin looks back at Rhysand for a long minute, before his stony gaze turns to Lucien. “Come,” he says. “Leave the whore to his games. He’s not worth our time.”

“Oh but Tamlin,” Rhysand says, pressing back into Lucien with a coy, girlish angling of his hips. “Lucien’s playing with me.”

“Lucien is _mine_ ,” Tamlin snarls, launching himself at the other before catching himself and freezing, horror on his face.

Silence. It permeates the air for a terribly long minute. “Oh?” Rhysand says, deadly quiet. “Is he now?” He slides his fingers up Lucien’s cock, drawing out an unwanted whimper. “Oh dear Tamlin. I thought I taught you better than this. Clearly, your lover is most dissatisfied.”

“We’re not- Shut up,” Tamlin stammers, taking another step forward before he is stopped in his tracks by Lucien groaning, long and slow in response to Rhysand massaging his cock.

There is a look of such betrayal in his eyes, and Lucien feels his heart breaking. This is his best friend, the man he has been quietly in love with for decades, and here he is, crooning out love cries to the enemy. “Tam, I’m not… this isn’t what it looks like.”

“I always forget how you non-daemiti are such idiots.” Rhysand steps away, positioned equally between them. “If you could only hear what’s in the other’s head, this would have been resolved long, long ago. Though quite frankly, the fact that you two have been infatuated with one another has been obvious to all of Prythian for eons.  If you two weren’t so dense-“

He is cut of by both of them protesting, though they both fall silent at how obvious the rushed denial is in the other. Oh. “Far more fascinating,” Rhys continues, “is how repressed you are about your attraction to me. But really, Lucien, a broom closet? And Tamlin, could you please stop insulting me by calling me ‘stupidly beautiful like a woman’ with a whole horde of shockingly sexist comments. You really ought to sort out your issues with the fairer sex. Although I suppose it all stems from your ridiculous attempt to suppress your sexuality.”

They both stare at him. “Ah. Apologies. Sometimes being an all-powerful mind reader surrounded by morons means I just need to vent, you know?” He looks between the two of them, and all at once the wolf is back, smirking. “It’s true, I am rather seductive when I show off. Thank you for noticing. But, we have bigger issues to deal with than your repression.” His fingers encircle Lucien’s cock once more, and he realizes he has not escaped just because Tamlin has discovered them. “Lucien here hasn’t had a good fuck in, well, _decades_.”

“What about-” Tamlin begins, frowning at his courtier, who is infinitely grateful that his mask covers his blush.   
“I’m afraid those late nights spent moaning were spent in the company of no one but his right hand and thoughts of me, not that girl he made up to stop you trying to set him up. Me, and you.” Stroking his cock, Rhysand leans in and kisses softly at Lucien’s collarbones, as if they were young, innocent lovers, not enemies. “So. What do you say we make his dreams come true. Cauldron knows someone in this place deserves to be happy.”

Lucien knows Tamlin will do no such thing – he speaks of men bedding men the same way he talks of Amarantha ruling them; with absolute abhorrence – yet he is powerless to stop himself from moaning a breathless ‘please’ as Rhysand sucks heavy, wanting hickies across his neck.

“Shame about this mask,” Rhysand whispers softly, his other hand now threaded in his hair, stroking and kind, so different to before. “You always were so beautiful.”

“Don’t,” Lucien grunts, his hips bucking into those deft hands. “Don’t be gentle.”

“I’m not like the incubus in your dreams, Lucien.” He cradles his jaw with that roaming hand, and kisses the shell of his ear. “But I am an excellent actor.”

On cue, his hand crescendos from lazy stroking to quick, rough tugs, before- Lucien inhales sharply as he is spun around and pinned with his front against the shelves. Two fingers, belonging to the demon of his fantasies, slide across his asshole, testing. Teasing.

“No.” Rhysand is pushed aside. “I told you.” Lucien feels new, tender lips gloss the nape of his neck. “He’s mine.”

“So you will play.”

“Shut up.”

Lucien is lost for a moment, dumbfounded as he feels his High Lord’s fingers caress his ass, his thumb encircling his entrance before pushing in. Lucien cries out; many nights alone have left him looser than most, but dry, it still aches. He wants more, more of that sharp pain. His cock is so sore, so hard and unattended to for so long. “Please,” he moans, bowing his head against the shelves. “ _Please, Tam, Please_.”

“Yes, Tamlin,” Rhysand says, and his voice is suddenly not from where Lucien expects, much lower. He glances down to see Rhysand kneeling before him, and as he catches his eyes he grins and licks the head of his cock. “Let’s see who can relieve him first.”

In his dreams, Lucien always imagined the Illyrian gave excellent head. And oh, whoever said fantasies held no place in reality? His tongue is quick and attentive, scraping those hot, sensitive spots that make him cry out, kittenish and shaking. His teeth graze the covered nerves in the head, teasing out little gasps, making him beg for Rhysand too to _please, please_ just make him come.

Tamlin has always been competitive. With no lubrication aside from precum, which is already dripping from his cock, he pushes himself into Lucien. It is no sign of weakness when Lucien shouts ‘fuck’, for Tamlin, in all his height and glory, is equally well endowed in his cock. Lucien will not be able to walk properly for days, magical fae healing and all.

“Don’t say his name,” Tam says, slamming in deeper though his voice is gentle. “You’re mine, Luce. _Mine_.”

“Fuck. Tam, Tam it feels so-”

“Too rough?”

“So good.”

Chuckling, Tamlin is echoed by Rhysand, who still has his lips wrapped to cock. He breaks momentarily to say, “You think that feels good.” Lucien thinks he might just die from sensation when Rhysand takes him fully into his mouth and deep throats him, his quivering cock rubbing against the back of his throat and fuck he wasn’t kidding. It is all Lucien can do out of loyalty to his High Lord to stop himself coming, barely.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Tam wraps a hand around Lucien’s waist and pulls him close, fucking him over and over, still dry, still so fucking painful but so, so fucking satisfying. The fire in his ass as he is worked open, deeper and deeper, feels better than anything else in his life before. Though his cock is being worked beautifully with clever licks and such care, Tam’s beast of a cock is splitting him open and undoing him whole, every muscle in his body at the mercy of his thrusts. “Tam,” Lucien cries out, “Tam, please, I can’t-”

And he can’t. Much as he wants this disaster to last forever, he can’t stop himself from coming into Rhysand’s tongue, his body clenching uncontrollably. It’s too much for Tamlin, who comes wet and hot and dripping inside of him, pushing deeper as the orgasm shakes him on, then slowing gradually, until defeated he slips out of him.

They pant in shell-shocked speechlessness. “Well,” Rhysand says, and he is standing, as cool and composed as ever, readjusting his shirt. “That was a delightful distraction. Thank you, gentlemen.” Like they hadn’t just fucked in a closet, he pecks Lucien on the cheek of his mask, and gives Tamlin a malicious grin. “Promise I won’t tell a soul. Well. Probably.” Before either of them, exhausted and disheveled, can protest, he is gone.

Lucien would lament about what a mess they are in, but the sight of Tamlin, his hair a mess and his huge, muscular body trembling, has him half-hard all over again. He grabs him by the front of his shirt, reckless. Fuck it.

“Again.”


End file.
